Chiaroscuro
by johanableify
Summary: Not all the things are like what they seem to be in the beginning. You have to look hard enough to see the contrasts.
1. Chapter 1

**00 || Prologue**

„Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,  
and sorry i could not travel both  
and be one traveler.  
long i stood  
and looked down one,  
as far as i could,  
to where it bent in the undergrwoth."

Smoke.

Smoke everywhere.

He woke up to the high-pitched sound of the fire alarm piercing the once silent air of the house. Eyes full of horror and body pumped with adrenaline, he jerked up in his bed and was soonfully aware of the situation he was in.

There was a fire.  
A fire in their house.

This couldn't have been real. This coudn't have been happening.

"MUM?!"

Sprinting out of the bed and into the hallway, he noticed the smoke and the red and orange blending to dance mockingly against the walls. He'd never though that he'd in a burning house. He'd read about these horrors in the newspaper from time to time, yes, and thought about how terrible it must be to lose a home to the flames like this, but he'd never known that this was how he'd die as well.

"DEAN?! WHERE ARE YOU?!"

That voice belonged to his father. John Winchester. Through watering eyes, he saw the older man run in and grab him by the shoulder, turning him forcefully so he could look at his Dad.

"What is happening? WHAT HAPPENED?" he asked his was rampant fear in his tone.

"There is no time to explain that, just get out of here. GET OUT OF HERE!"

"NO, I CAN'T! Where's Mum? And what about Sammy?!"

No sooner had the little boy uttered these words, they heard a cracking sound out of Sam's room. A loud and ominous cracking noise which made Deans blood freeze inside his veins.

That couldn't have been a good sign

Not wasting another minute, John rushed by Dean and ran into his younger son's room screaming his wife's name.  
His screams became louder after what he saw confirmed his fear; he saw something that he would never forget. Something thatwould burned itself onto his lenses and would haunt him every night from now on, giving him nightmares that ended in tears.

Because the thing that he saw, was a crying Mary hovering over Sammys unconscious and unmoving body, sorrounded by flames that gave them no chance of any rescue.

No, no, no, no, no.

This is wrong.

So wrong.

Wake up.

This is a bad dream.

He was in shock.

They could die. They could die now, and it would be his fault, because he couldn't do anything.

John shook Dean hard; fingers clenching tightly into his son's shoulders. Dean barely noticed.

So when he looked up and saw his Fathers screaming features that seemed to yell something at him, he couldn't hear anything. The only thing that he could hear was Mary's bloodcurdling scream.

Not able to move he watched how John ran into Sam's room once again and tried to fight his way through the flames to his wife.

This was pure suicide.

He heard John's screams as the heat of the fire stung and burned itself onto his father's skin. He would never understand how his father withstood this moment of pain. Maybe it was because of the shock, or maybe because the only real reason that was in his head: to save his love and his younger son.

And he almost made it. He almost made it.

And he couldn't believe what he saw next.

John reached Mary and Sam in time and Dean could see how his mother pushed Sam into John's waiting arms. He saw how John screamed at Mary and that his mother was in tears and screaming as well. Dean has never seen her like that. She seemed to be totally desperate, keen to save Sam. And it hit Dean when he saw that Marys legs were stuck underneath the cupboard that fall over when Dean and John were standing in the hallway. That was the loud crack.

"Mum...", barely a whisper he looked at her. He looked at his mum and hold back the tears. He couldn't cry.

Not now.  
Not in this moment.

There was no time for tears.

John fell backwards, with Sam in his arms, through the flames. On to the ground beneath Deans feet.

In the next seconds the time stood still.

Everything went silent around him.

No screams. No crackling oft he fire that sorrounded them.

When he glanced at his mother for the last time, she gave him her sweet, sweet couldn't smile back. He'd never thought that he would be in a situation like this. He'd never thought about losing his mother. Because he couldn't imagine a world without Mary in it. It just wasn't possible.

After that everything happened very fast.

There was a loud crack. This one far louder than the one that they'd heard as they stood in the hallway.

It was a horrifying sound.

He didn't wanted to believe his eyes.

Because after Dean blinked, the ceiling broke down and fell down on his mother.

And all he could do was scream.

He screamed so loud that his lungs hurt, that all the air was pressed out of them, and that the hot heat of the fire was sucked in it, burning everything inside of him.

He wanted to save her with his voice.

He could feel the tears sting as they made their way down his face. They were boiling hot because of the flames. And the pain was nothing compared to the pain inside his heart.

This couldn't be true.

He wanted to run inside the room, wanted to push the burning and glowing rubble away from his mothers body. He wanted to save her.

But he couldn't.

John was behind him in a flurry, dragging him with a strong hand out of the room.

Screaming and struggeling and clinging to the doorframe of the bedroom, trying to hold on, wanting to fight against the flames, which he barely had a chance against. Which he didn't have the strength for.

So he let go.

He let himself be dragged out of the house by John and he ended up lying on the now crowded sidewalk. There were so many people who watched the burning house with wet eyes, hands about their mouth with shushed voices behind shaking fingers.

Dean couldn't hear a thing.

He knew that Sam was with his Dad who stood a few feet next to him, and he saw him break down on his knees, crying and shaking hard, cause his mind couldn't believe what just happened. This night would change everything in his life. And it would build roads which he never thought that would be able to be build.

And then he looked to the side and saw Cas.

Starring at the house with pure shock. Wide eyed and in panic and searching for Dean.

While his older brother Michael behind him just turned his backto the tragedy and talked to a strange man, covered in a dark coat, Cas continued to stare. He couldn't see a face, and even if he could, he wouldn't have been able to recognize him. Dean had no idea who he was back then. He saw Cas's older brother smiling at the man and nodding seriously to something that he'd just heard. Then they dissapeared into the layered darkness, decorating the road.

And then he felt hands on his forehead and Cas's gentle and loud voice and tears and burning skin and at last, his mothers sweet, sweet smile.

And then he passed out.

"..two roads diverged in a wood,  
and I,  
I took the one less traveled by.  
And that has made all difference."

- Robert Frost


	2. Chapter 2

**01. || Chapter I**

"Let's make a red, red riot  
Let's make a big, bright fire  
Cause we're all so tired of this  
But we still crush dreams it seems" 

"Stupid, fucking books! Why am I even doing this shitjob?!"

Some people looked up in surprise when they heard the 27 year old guy mouthing swear words as he arranged books not so calmly into their original shelves. He earned some annoyed looks from an old couple back in the corner for his inappropriate behavior; they shook their head in dissaprovement, beady eyes fixed evaluatingly on Dean, already in full alert mode to contact the head of their local-appropriate- library.

Just before he could slam the next book into another dusty empty place, a voice stopped him from his actions.

"Have some manners Winchester, I don't let you work here so that you can show people how adept you are at cursing. So you better zip it and do your work like you're supposed to or I'll let you scrub the toilet instead."

Regardless of her no nonsense, damn hardened attitude, Ellen Harvelle wasn't a bad boss.

Hell, he was just thankful that she gave him this job in the first place; he'd been in need of quick money and she'd offered him a fast- and legal - way out.

"Sorry. I didn't meant it like that." His tone reflected his true remorse as he turned around to look at her.

If there was one thing he knew for sure, it was that you never offended Ellen Harvelle. Not unless you fancied having your ass is in the danger one and only time he'd made the mistake of running hadn't really worked out; it didn't end that well for him. Or his ass.

"It's just that I really want to get my shit together and be responsible and get a real job. And not," he gestured around wildly with his hands, "do this. This isn't me Ellen! Hell, I don't even like books!"

She knew that. And she also knew that it wasn't easy for the older Winchester to get a job after what had happened 8 years ago. That incident wasn't his fault, but that's just how things went, and no matter how hard one tried, the past could never be rewritten. So one had to move on.  
She'd tried to drill this into the stubborn Winchester's head ever since he'd started working here.

Without success of course.

It seemed like he'd locked himself in a box of eternal sadness after the Winchester house had burned down and left the family with barely nothing. It was sad, but something had to be done. And so Ellen tried once again.

"I know boy, but it doesn't help to scream around in a library where people like the quiet. It doesn't give you a good image. So hold on and keep searching for another job besides this one, but don't swear anymore, okay? At least not in the main halls."

Dean nodded in agreement and watched her leave. He then sighed and continued to put the books into the shelf. There was no way he could do this for the rest of is fucking life.

Asking himself just how he'd ended up in a situation like this, he finished his work and went back to the staff room where his coat and his bag were waiting anxiously for his return and their quiet trip home.

Home.

Yeah right.

He couldn't really claim that the place where he slept and ate and lived at the moment was even close to the defintion of home. Truthfully, he actually hated the place where he lived. It was cold and empty and he preferred spending more time out of his apartment rather than inside it. The city with its rowdy night life and heartless atmosphere gave him more comfort; gave him the noise that he needed so he could avoid the silence that burned his heart out every night.

He'd been given a chance to have his old house rebuilt. A local charity foundation had heard of their tragic event and offered to help the family out with some of the building costs.

But Dean hadn't agreed.

He couldn't have lived there, and Sammy couldn't have either.

They'd talked about this issue a lot, and it had been the initiator of many conflicts. But after a few fights and discussions they'd reached a mutual conclusion; the house was more than just bricks and concrete and wood. Old memories couldn't be rebuilt. It was better that an empty place stood in lieu of the Winchester house.

He's just glad that he doesn't have to drive by it everyday. It had taken him some extra minutes to use another route around the town, but it was better than to be confronted by the physical reminder of their loss every single day.

He took his leather jacket and pulled it on, took his bag, and dissapeared into the main hall of the library. Waving Ellen a quick goodbye, he left the building and made his way to his apartement in his fathers old Chevy Impala.

It was one of the last valuable things that was still intact and remained the family.

He really wished that the last 8 years could be ereased from his life history. Almost everything had gone wrong and there was no light at the end of the tunnel.

After the fire, there had been so much grief everywhere. His father had grabbed the bottle with a love that rivaled his adoration of his dead wife, and had fallen into something called "expierience-suicide-drinking"; an act he managed with impeccable ease from time to time.

John had changed. He'd started to become rougher around his sons and went through a lot of emotional stages that left their painful mark in Deans memory.

He rememberd that one time when he'd come home to find a completely wasted John, standing silently in front of a dark brown closet; the closet where he'd kept all Mary's things. At least all the ones that were salvaged from the fire. It was scary to see his father mute and unmoving, a numb look aimed at the few things before him. Child that Dean was, he'd gathered his courage and had walked quietly into the room, gently touching his father's shoulder – a simple move thar morphed itself into an ugly mistake.

John had turned around so suddenly, movement knocking his son's brittle hand off his shoulder.

Before Dean could have understood what was going on, John had begun shouting; loudly, full of hate and blaming his son with every word that came out of his mouth.

That it was his fault that Mary died.

That Dean hadn't even moved a finger when everything happened and that his mother would still be alive if he wouldn't have been so selfish back then, only caring to safe his own life.

Dean couldn't understand what his dad was saying there, the words that were spoken and that couldn't be taken back now.

But John didn't even seemed to care.

He'd gripped his sons arm and tried to punch him, still screaming with a face full of fear and hate and sadness.

Trying to capture John's hands with his own, he'd tried to fight back. He didn't want to be weak and let himself be beaten up by his own father. He didn't want to go and cry like some other people would've done if they were in his place instead. Who wouldn't fight back?

This whole situation was completely and totally broken by now.

So he ended up in a bloody mess with his own father until Sam came running into the room and seperated the two men, young face blocked by tears while John was still furious and eager to punch the shit out of Dean.  
The looks that they'd exchanged at that very moment said everything. It made things clear.

"You aren't my son anymore."

"How could you let her die?"

Yes, how could Dean let her die? How?

Dean had ended up in the ER, getting his face stiched up and gaining some sympathetic looks from the nurses when his burn marks had been revealed.

It didn't affect him. They were just scars.

But he still blamed himself when he thought of the fire. Of the things that he could've done if he'd just moved. If he just would've stepped into the room and dragged his mother out of the fire.

It haunted him and it didn't seem like it would stop.

The nightmares returned night after night.

Worse, the only person who could stop them had turned his back on him a long time ago. There was no way he could've been with who might have been involved in his mothers death – maybe even be the reason why his mother had died that night. It was something that he would never understand. Something that his mind wouldn't ever logically fit together.

In his head, it looked like a puzzle with tons of unfitting pieces.

He stood silently in the door of his apartement and let the darkness of the still dark hallway sink in as he leaned back against the front door.

There was no doubt in his mind – or in his heart, for that matter – that he missed Cas.

But he didn't dare look into a face that he was supposed to love and trust when instead the only thing that he could think of was blame and death and guilt.

The memory of the fire was still a little fuzzy because he'd suffered from several injuries and smoke intoxication after he'd escaped from the flames. But he still remembered the scenery were Castiel's older brother Michael talked to this strange looking, coated man, clearly.

It'd seemed absurd to him, and it was even more so if since he knew that Castiels family wasn't the biggest fan of the Winchesters.

They lived a very catholic way of life and Michael had several fights with John about some things that were unknown to Dean because his father barely talked about it when they were together. But it must been some serious stuff and it itched him to find out what these things were.

But one thing he's pretty certain about, is that those talks would have included his relationship with Cas.

They never really told anyone, but he's pretty sure that his mother had known it.

His mother was good at understanding subtle things. Things like your son not buying flowers for a girl but for a boy instead. Things like spending several hours on "homework" in their bedrooms.

They'd never really tried to hide it. Never really been to careful. But maybe they should have been. Should have stayed away from harsh eyes.

Eyes that had beloned to the guy who'd set the fire in their house.

After a few days of investigation, the police had found some strange materials around their house that were suspected to have caused the fire. But they were so badly burned that they'd been unable to identify their owner.

But he knows what he'd seen. His eyes didn't betray him.

He'd been alone with Cas at the Novaks' house, to talk about the whole accident and to be comforted by him.

He'd told Cas that he was going to the bathroom, but instead he'd stepped quietly into Michael's room. He searched and searched, looking frantically for something - anything – that could explain the older man's strange behavior.

And he really had found something.

He stood in the room where the familiar dark coat, the one on the stranger from the other night, was draped over some empty fuel cans.

Dean had thought about examining the piece of clothing while Cas was in the kitchen making some sandwiches and boiling tea.

He knew that it was wrong to search for goods in other peoples belongings and he thought about what Cas would say if he knew what he was doing right now.

This wasn't Dean.

Dean wouldn't do this.  
Even though this act would question Cas's trust, this was important and it could have contained evidence to help find the person who'd set fire to his home.

So he took the coat and searched for something. Quickly, with a racing heart.

There were several inside pockets in the coat, full of papers and fake ID's. Maps with red dots on it and contracts. Who carried all this stuff around all the time if it wasn't important?

So he looked through the contracts and he found some with Michaels signature under it.

They were in a language that he couldn't read but he could guess at the meaning – and that meaning made him angry beyong anything.

He'd felt his body start to pump the adrenalin and how the air had suddenly gotten cut off. His hands trembled and he was scared.

Feeling how the pain and the tears and the hate and the dissapointement swelled up to the surface, he went into the kitchen where Cas was.

Slowly aproaching him from behind, Dean grasped at the edges of his sanity and tried to stay calm.

"Cas" he stopped in the middle of the sentence and took a deep breath, his sudden action gaining a strange and questioning look from the boy in front of him.

"I don't.. what is this?"

He tried to stay calm – he really, really did. But it was so hard to stay under control.

Cas didn't say a word.

He just looked at the papers and stared, his face told Dean that he didn't know what to say.

There was so much pressure building underneath his lungs, and he wanted to scream, letting out the pain and the grief and the hurt and most importantly, the utter disbelief.

He trusted Cas.

Hell, he loved him.

He'd never said it to him. But he'd felt it. God, he'd felt it.

They exchanged a look which Dean couldn't place. Cas's face was empty and his eyes didn't show anything; blank slates of ice that refused to tell him something more about the damned papers.

"Dean..." he let his gaze sink down onto the papers in Deans hand and swallowed the lump that had built up inside his throat.

Dean could've never imagined that he was capable of such an act.

It hurt.

It hurt so bad that it felt like someone'd pushed a blade inside of him from behind and was now twisting it around and around.

"Where did you find that?" he asked after a while, still not looking Dean in the eyes.

Dean only shook his head in disbelief. He was close to tears but there was no way he would show Cas that.

Tears were wrong.

They were always wrong and he couldn't let himself show those emotions right now.

There were more important things to talk about than having a peachy lovey dovey chick flick moment.

"Cas I trusted you, do you even know that? I don't- .. I don't know what I should do know. I don't know what this is, everything is so confusing and I'm feeling so fucking.. exhausted and you know what..?" he threw the papers in Cas's direction so that they were flying across the room, filling the air with a strange musty smell.

They rained down on Cas's shocked face and Dean's as well, faces that were now surely filled with tears, tears Cas wasn't able to see through the paper rain.

"I don't even care what you have to say to this, because this is more than obvious for me."

"Dea-" Cas's tone was pleading as he tried to stop Dean from spewing harsh truths.

"No. Let me finish!" he shouted.

"I don't want to know, okay. Don't tell me. I knew from the beginning that this wouldn't end well. I tried to cover this fucking feeling but you see where this ended. Your family is fucked up and I should've seen where this was heading so just leave it be and..I leave. I leave. I can't..." closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he didn't see how Cas took a few steps toward him and tried to put a hand on his arm.

This was a lost situation, and there was nothing that he could do to save this.

"Dean I did-.."

"Don't you fucking touch me with those hands!", he slapped Cas's reaching fingers away from his body almost as if they had burned him.

"Let me talk!" Cas shouted back, but Dean didn't want to hear a single word out of his mouth anymore.

"Why?! So you can lie to me, to my face? What you've maybe done a hundred times, because who knows what the fuck you're doing in your freetime! Forget it Cas. I'm going."

Turning his back to the confused and saddened boy, he speared his hands through his hair and screamed as loud as he could, trying to get the pressure out of his lungs; screamed long and loud and hoped to wake up from this horrible nightmare.

Which he didn't of course.

"Dean just listen to me for a moment!"

The other boy was now on his way into the hallway.

He couldn't let him leave like that.

The last thing that Dean needed right now was a fight. But it seemed that there was no other way to get this right.

But things were so gone now that there was no room for a fight. No point. Nothing would work now.

But he still tried to run after Dean, tried to grip him by his arms, tried to calm him down. But nothing worked.

Cas's efforts ended with the never ending sound of the door slamming shut and with the sound of his dying heart as he stood still in the hallway, the paper mess in the kitchen visible only in his peripheral vision.

How could go things have gone so terribly wrong?

A sudden waft of cold air from somewhere unknown jolted the older Winchester out of his painful thoughts. Heart aching with the burden of the past, Dean shook his head and tried his damndest to clear his mind.

He had to stop and think about the past all the time. It didn't help and it probably never would because like Ellen had told him, one couldn't rewrite the past.

In retrospect, he wished with all his might that he'd never found those papers in Cas's house. He wished they'd never had that argument.

Cas had moved a few years following their fight.

Dean till date, never knew or found out why or where he moved to. All he remembered was his father saying something about Italy when he'd been in one of his infamous drunken stupors. It was a strange feeling to have him gone. He'd never even said goodbye to Cas.

And only God knew whether Dean would ever see him again.

Probably not.

But some roads lead to some places that are unknown and unexpected.

And in time, Dean would see that those roads aren't that rare.


End file.
